


Counting to the First Day

by Little Giant (Destini)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Argentina, Day 6 (Al Fine), First Meetings, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:36:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destini/pseuds/Little%20Giant
Summary: Deep breaths...Hinata put his foot down. Thank goodness. Oikawa didn’t want to be the one to go to war with Natsu.It’s his last chance. Today’s the day. He’ll tell him because he has to. He’ll tell him because it’s what you do after falling in love with one of your best friends. And he’ll tell him because if he doesn’t tell him today, Hinata will find out tomorrow when they go to pick up his international SIM card and see the text Oikawa never meant to send him.He’s counting the hours.Now, Oikawa counts the number of times Natsu glares in his direction.
Relationships: Hinata Natsu & Oikawa Tooru, Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59
Collections: Rose's Birthday Collection 2021





	Counting to the First Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PaleRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaleRose/gifts).



> For PaleRose's birthday event ([twitter link here for the prompts and stuff](https://twitter.com/palerosetweets/status/1339214003877384194/photo/1)). A couple days late because I was nervous about posting but I really admire her writing so YOLO!

All it takes is a deep breath. And when Oikawa takes it, he makes sure to count. Typically, he’s counting on runs or warm-ups, thinking ahead about his next step, eyes open or closed but always the same image in his mind of a blade of grass that moves with every inhale and exhale. He never thought of it as a calming routine until Hinata tackled him on the beach a couple years ago—accidentally, of course—brilliant hair of fire taking up his whole vision along with his apologies.

He breathed in and out then, too, heart hammering and _confused_.

Now that he’s found use in this ‘calming routine,’ he’s made counting a fun part of his everyday life. Deft fingers cut vegetables in his Argentinian home, tapping out a rhythm and counting every cut. He hums numbers in lines and during commercial breaks. The numbers of the breaks, even from different ads, all end up shockingly similar. Huh.

His favorite neighbor has taken up the cello to add to her viola and violin playing. Oikawa counts those beats too. She’s lived here longer than him and helped him with his Spanish in exchange for his occasional Japanese home cooking. He only wishes she understood the agreement was _only_ for Spanish and not random Italian musical terms.

He counts again, now, starting from zero when the airplane landed and getting to the magical number of 116 when he finally sees two sets of brilliant fiery hair sprint towards him from airport arrivals.

“Shouyou-kun!” he laughs, opening his arms. He doesn’t have to bend down, but he likes to anyway, wrapping arms around a broad back and inhaling the clear scent of sand, strawberry, and sun that is so distinctly him.

He’ll tell him this time.

“Argentoto-san!”—and Oikawa beams at the reverence and cheer in the new nickname—before playfully messing up Hinata’s hair and laughing at his pout.

“Hey!” Hinata complains, unable to frown for long before he’s laughing with him.

“And this must be Natsu-chan!” Oikawa says, turning himself to address her.

She’s the spitting image of him, eyes wide and curious, but Natsu has none of her brother’s obnoxious cheer. The intensity is still there though, but in a far more subdued way. He likes it.

Oikawa squares his shoulders and smiles. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Shouyou talks about you all the time.”

He’s learned he’s intimidating, a little too tall and muscular these days for the average person unless he remembers to smile and speak casually. The last thing he wants to do is scare off his friend’s kid sister. Even though she’s a lot taller than Hinata was at her age.

In hindsight, perhaps he should’ve.

“I prefer to be addressed as Hinata by people I don’t know,” she says pointedly.

“ _Natsu_!” Hinata groans.

“No, no it’s fine!” he laughs, running a hand through _his_ Hinata’s hair once again. “How about Hinata-chan? Will that do?”

“Sure, Oikawa-san.”

“Great! How about I get your bag for you?”

“No, thank you.”

Oikawa bites his cheek and forces himself to keep his smile. He thought she’d be cute, maybe even be a little in awe to meet the Grand King, anything at all except the cold indifference he is being chilled under right now at the _Aeropuerto Internacional Ministro Pistarini_. When Hinata asked if it was okay to bring her along, he’d said yes without thinking, but it had to be worth it. Today was the day, and the alternative of not seeing Hinata at all was too much to bear.

Oikawa amps up the charm, lets the information flow through him like a practiced chorus. He has a plan—not that Natsu is cooperating—and her detours won’t stop him. He doesn’t take them to the park when Natsu claims allergies. He doesn’t take them to a famous eatery when she sees the menu. But a simple theme park featuring an assortment of regional foods?

Hinata put his foot down. Thank goodness. Oikawa didn’t want to be the one to go to war with Natsu.

It’s his last chance. Today’s the day. He’ll tell him because he has to. He’ll tell him because it’s what you do after falling in love with one of your best friends. And he’ll tell him because if he doesn’t tell him today, Hinata will find out tomorrow when they go to pick up his international SIM card and see the text Oikawa never meant to send him.

He’s counting the hours.

Now, Oikawa counts the number of times Natsu glares in his direction. 36 so far. Hinata rushes to the bathroom, and she finally opens her mouth, a heaping plate of empanadas balancing in one hand. He doesn’t know how she manages to hold something so hot.

“My brother’s bi, you know.”

“What?”

She stops looking around for a seat and peers up at him. “Are you saying you _didn’t know_?”

“I didn’t mean it like that! I mean, I thought he was _gay_ , not bi. And why are you telling me this?”

Natsu doesn’t answer for a while longer. Oikawa counts five seconds. She nods, a smile on her face. Oikawa wants to sit down from the whirlwind. For a moment, she almost looked like another ball of sunshine.

“I guess you’re a good guy for putting up with me for this long just to impress Shochan.”

“P-putting up with you? Are you saying you’ve been mean to me on _purpose_?”

She giggles just like her brother. Oikawa would be infuriated if he wasn’t already in love with that giggle.

“I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

He feels his nostrils flare. But she’s still smiling up at him—expectantly, like she knows the answer. Like a damn brat. But he can’t say no to the Hinatas after all.

“Whatever!”

Oikawa doesn’t know how Natsu knows his feelings. Did Shouyou? The entire time? It doesn’t matter. He sees Hinata leaving the bathroom and clutches his two tickets for the _River of Love_ ride in his fist. He’ll tell Hinata today. He’ll make it special.

_Keep going._

It’s a sign to keep going, but Oikawa now knows he’s afraid to. He doesn’t know where it ends. What happens next? He’s always prepared to take whatever necessary steps forward because he knows the goal he wants. If his feet bury in snow deeper than the last step, it’s fine. He can deal with the cold, with the freezing, with the wind that bites underneath his frail fingernails if he knows there’s warmth at the end.

Oikawa doesn’t know what’s at the end of this river with Hinata Shouyou. The boat ride stops and all the elaborate lights and decorations and music stop along with it. Hinata opens up his phone and turns the flashlight on.

“Let’s get out.”

He follows Hinata’s gaze to the small path that follows the fake river, only big enough for attendants or customers to stand on to walk to an emergency exit.

“ _Please remain where you are_ ,” loud speakers say, “ _And an attendant will guide you to the nearest exit_.”

Hinata ignores it, not pausing his shoving or shuffling the entire way off the boat, even though Oikawa knows he understands enough Spanish to hear the directions.

“Chibi-chan,” he whispers, exasperated, “What are you doing?”

“I want to see the end. They’ll make us leave if they catch us,” Hinata quickly explains, leading them both forward, fingers entwining with his. Oikawa shivers.

“I know. I know, but… the lights won’t be on, it won’t be the same.”

Hinata stops for that comment. Oikawa’s a coward for finding relief in it.

His friend turns, phone flashlight lighting up their faces. Hinata’s eyelashes cast shadows that go all the way down, as if he’s been crying out his black eyeliner, or if a spider created a web down his cheekbones.

“But I still want to. You said it’s special, right? Even if we can’t see it, won’t it still be special?”

“Of course,” Oikawa murmurs, weak, because that’s all he is for Hinata.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want, you know,” Hinata adds.

Oikawa squeezes his fingers and shakes his head. “No. We can go to the end.”

“…Okay.”

But Oikawa’s still a coward. How can he feel so heavy if the steps aren’t deep? There is nothing but the weight of his own heart holding him down.

The music starts back up, distorted, the twinkling bouts of electricity not enough to keep any of the machines working properly. It reminds him of a horror movie, flickering neon pink lights, something beautiful and terrifying in the dark. A mixture of emotions and steadily louder sounds doesn’t make him think of crescendo, but make him scramble and think of words like adagio, tenuto, sforzando, con brio, tremolo, _poco a poco_ —

“Creepy, huh?” Hinata whispers, tugging himself ever closer to Oikawa’s arm.

The river of love is ending soon. Mannequins and hearts and decorations tell him things like _just ahead_ and the final doors—just beyond them a giant display of lit-up roses in a heart shape—that would automatically open for their boat are large and imposing.

Like a gateway to a pink Hell. He doesn’t want to climb a mountain to a destination he doesn’t know. It’s not who he is.

“Shouyou!”

Oikawa tries to ignore the fucked-up music that makes this the worst time possible for his stream of thoughts.

“W-what?” Hinata startles, eyes widening. His phone slips and clatters to the ground, the obvious crack loud and the flashlight smothered as the phone lies face-up.

Pitch darkness cuts in immediately and Hinata curses under his breath. He moves to separate his hand, but Oikawa pulls his fingers up to his lips.

“Shouyou. Wait. Just hold on a second.”

“But, my phone—”

“I have to tell you som—”

“Yes, but, just—”

“ _Shouyou_ , I _love_ you.”

Oikawa should’ve let him pick up his phone. He sees nothing—not the crinkling smile on Hinata’s lips or a wide-eyed look of horror in his eyes. But he doesn’t let go. He listens to the sounds of the end of the world—heavy breathing and distorted love songs—fully prepared for Hinata’s hands to slip away from his grasp forever.

“Is that why you brought me here?”

“Yes,” Oikawa croaks. His palms are sweaty.

“And you love me?”

“I’ve loved you for an obnoxious amount of time without you knowing.” He squeezes for emphasis and dares to brush his lips over Hinata’s knuckles.

Oikawa counts three beats of silence and six beats of his heart.

Hinata gently pushes his hand forward and Oikawa wonders if this is what it’s like to want something enough to beg. He kisses his hand for real this time, more and more when Hinata doesn’t move.

“I knew.”

“What?”

“I knew you liked me. I just didn’t—”

“—think it was serious?”

“Yeah,” Hinata chuckles. He’s choked up. Oikawa wonders if he’s crying from happiness or the inevitable rejection.

But Hinata finally pulls away from his grasp, leaving Oikawa alone and cold in darkness that extends from his mind to his sweating palms.

Hinata’s hands return, feeling out gently and clumsily to find him in the dark. He lingers on his chest, to his sides, mapping him in the dark in a way that’s going to give Oikawa the wrong idea. Hinata pulls himself closer, hands slinking up his sides until they’re cupping his face.

“I love you, too.”

Oh, Hinata. Warm lips miss his—brushing Oikawa’s chin—before finding the tulips that sing to him a long, deep moan. Hinata tastes salty, leaving Oikawa to lick around his mouth when Hinata pulls away to sniff and exhale. Oikawa counts three sniffles and nine stutters of his heart.

“Oikawa-san. You idiot. Now you’ve made this even harder than before.”

“I know,” he laughs, small enough to be a whisper.

“I’m not giving up my dreams. You know that, right?”

“I know,” he says, gentle enough to be a secret.

“We’d be living in different countries for years.”

“I know.”

“Be on enemy _teams_ , Oikawa. Learn different languages, love different foods. Completely different friends.”

“I know.”

“Don’t even get me _started_ on what would happen if our teams and sponsors found out.”

“I know.”

Hinata groans and gently shakes Oikawa’s face back and forth. “Then _why_? We were fine. We were _okay_.”

Oikawa hums before sliding one of Hinata’s hands away from his cheek and over his lips, pinching a pointer finger and tracing it over the curves.

“You’re smiling…?”

“We weren’t okay, Hinata. Not really. I am now, though.”

Oikawa thinks of climbing snowy mountain peaks and counting a meaningless number of steps. All he had to do was take one in Hinata’s direction. They could climb together, in a way where the numbers wouldn’t matter.

Hinata chuckles and it’s music to his ears. “Guess not.”

Oikawa kisses the finger—it’s their first day, but he counts this as the twelfth kiss—before bringing Hinata’s hand back to his cheek. “But it’s worth seeing it through to the end, right?”

“It is. And I think… I think if it’s you, and if it’s me, we’ll be fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's a silly couple of extra references in here to the birthday/event and I wonder if anyone will catch them.


End file.
